


Goodbye, stranger

by sparklingice



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe, Autumn, Bus, Crushes, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, Gloves, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Jokes, Kissing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Mysophobia, POV Jensen, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Phobias, Public Transportation, Romance, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklingice/pseuds/sparklingice
Summary: Jensen falls asleep on a stranger's shoulder on the night bus. He doesn't know it will take him on an adventure involving gloves, Math jokes and a dinner date.He doesn't like to open his mouth and show his teeth to random strangers. The kid is, apparently, all fine with it though, because he plops down next to Jensen and turns that brightness on him, like sharing a secret that's just theirs, something nobody else could catch as it springs lightning fast from that happy gaze to Jensen's tired green eyes. "I thought I was going to trip on my laces."





	Goodbye, stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys, I hope you had a great August. This is sort of my tribute to commuters, because I've been doing it my whole life and I think there's something magical about dragging yourself home in the pitch black of the night. Have fun reading it. :)
> 
> Side note: Those of you who are waiting for my Jade verse sequel, the good news is, the first chapter and the outline are ready and I have fanart (yay!), but I'm concerned about my workload, so I think the earliest I will post it is late September, if it doesn't interfere with my university stuff. xo

Tonight's bus driver is short-sighted and obese. He squints at the red traffic light as if it was his personal enemy and flexes his chubby hands around the wheel, perhaps rubbing their numbness away. His light blue uniform is permanently marked by the sweat that soaks the fabric under his armpits every single day. Type two diabetes, Jensen guesses as he notes the signs from the first-row window seat. Watching the guy distracts him from the phantom itch in his hand, the urge to shake it and brush the palm of his glove over and over again.

He doesn't like window seats. The dirt accumulating in the crevices around the glass gives him goosebumps. He hates sitting in the front with the same ferocity, but a suspicious stain on the floor kept him from going further back along the aisle tonight. Although it would be more pleasant if he didn't have to sit just a scarce few metres away from the door, he comforts himself with the thought that the evening rush is over. His space won't be crowded by weary nine-to-fivers who are ready to crash for two days straight since it's a Friday. Jensen would rather work an extra two hours every day just to avoid breathing their rank body odour on his forty-minute commute home.

The bus shrieks to a halt at the next stop, _University Centre. _Jensen grimaces at the bitter taste that floods his mouth. Thank God it's still summer break, the only time except for Christmas when the night service isn't bombarded by rowdy frat boys who are too lazy to walk two stops to the closest club. Jensen will miss summer, with its warmth and the sun-soaked, healthy shine it brings to people's faces. He already aches that it's over - as the doors open and the sudden chill of this cloudy August evening blows in, he hugs himself a little and wishes he chose a thicker jacket in the morning.

"Thank you!" Someone bursts into his musing by leaping into the vehicle, grinning gratefully at the apathetic driver when the doors slam shut.

It's such a nice smile, bright and clean - Jensen doesn't think they deserve it just for waiting out the ten seconds it took the kid to sprint through the patch of greenery that separates the stop from the university. But he's weird about smiles anyway. He doesn't like to open his mouth and show his teeth to random strangers. The kid is, apparently, all fine with it though, because he plops down next to Jensen and turns that brightness on him, like sharing a secret that's just theirs, something nobody else could catch as it springs lightning fast from that happy gaze to Jensen's tired green eyes.

"I thought I was going to trip on my laces." He laughs, still panting and bursting from life, so young and free, nothing like Jensen and his fear-tight muscles, and he's not a smoker. Jensen would smell it. He would. The stink of that deathstick is so deeply ingrained in his senses as an alarm that he would recoil if this boy had it clinging to him.

But his scent… his scent is incredible. Warm like the laundry you pull straight out of the dryer, and forest-clear, not tainted by the artificial stench of cheap deodorant sprays, and the glistening sheen of sweat on his flushed neck smears the memory of salt on Jensen's lips so vividly that he needs to lick them. He's drawn to the boy's heat and the strength of his body, amazed by how big it is all over, yet so careful and soft to keep people comfortable. Unlike the frat boys he was unfortunate enough to meet, this one pulls his limbs in tight when he sees Jensen's blatant discomfort after his attempt at a conversation. He keeps his hands in his lap and leans far enough away that their clothes don't brush. His smile fades, but the cheer never leaves his eyes.

Outside, the rhythmic dance of darkness and light follows them along the way as they drive past lamp posts and unlit parks. Orange, black, yellow, black, orange, then the blue of a 24-hour grocery store. Thirty minutes to go. The engine roars and rumbles when they take a turn, first left, then right. Then a stop. Jensen breathes in to the count of four, holds it, breathes out for a little longer, starts over. In, hold, out, hold, orange, black, orange… It's a lullaby.

The guy next to him shifts, and their thighs touch, and he's solid and warm, a wall that shields Jensen from all the others who may step close or invade his space, because this man fills all the space there is on Jensen's left, boxes him in. He smells so clean and enticing. Jensen tries to focus on the health risks of their contact, but as they roll forward and the world is all orange, black and the broken neon of the bus' lights, his eyes slip closed.

He sways with the motions, back and forward between the cold metal of the bus and the stranger's warm thigh, and his head bobs down and to the left, to the right, to the left, then down some more until it rests on something firm and comfy that draws a sigh from his mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, orange to black to orange and back…

"Shit, sorry." Jensen jerks upright, reflexively reaching for his own face until he realizes he has gloves on and his cheek is still better off with whatever is on the guy's hoodie than what covers the leather on his fingers. He can't believe he rested his head on an unknown college kid's shoulder. What's wrong with him?

"It's okay." The guy tells him, and his smile is gentle, but just as warm as a sip of hot chocolate on a dreary winter night. "You look like you need it. I'm Jared, by the way." He adds with a tiny wave.

"I do?" Jensen blanches, thinks of what his unexplainable, visible fatigue might mean, while the question of names slips right out of his mind. Is it meningitis? He doesn't have a stiff neck, does he? _Oh, damnit, you’re fine, stop worrying,_ he tells himself. He should have called a taxi when he realized how tired he was, that’s all. He’ll know better next time.

"Where do you get off?" Jared asks, and while he's still panicking, the answer comes to Jensen automatically before his higher cognitive functions could remind him not to trust a stranger who demands to know where he lives.

"Oakwood Street."

"All right." Jared nods and angles his body towards Jensen, offers his shoulder just like that, not even batting an eye.

The gesture makes Jensen squirm. How many others has this kid touched? How many viruses did he contract by being too kind, by being a ray of sunshine that doesn't realise it won't survive this dark world?

Jensen refuses to acknowledge the gesture. He apologises again and stares out the window, breathes in to the count of four. Twenty-five minutes to go.

"Hey." Someone whispers above Jensen's ear, a wake-up breeze that just makes him hang that much harder onto sleep. "Oakwood Street, it's your stop, buddy."

Jensen jolts up and he's instantly, utterly mortified. He did it again. He fell asleep on a stranger's shoulder on the _night bus_ of all places and he didn't even notice it this time. He's sick. He must be sick, coming down with something he picked up at work or at the café with Rob, yes, that damn café with its damn virus-ridden crowd…

"Are you okay?" The hapless kid Jensen must have infected by now puts a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, you didn't miss it."

"Thank you." Jensen stammers, scrambling away from the touch, even though it's a lost cause already. Whatever the guy has, Jensen got it too.

There's just enough time until his stop that after he gets out of his seat, he and his temporary pillow - Jared, he and Jared - share a long, lingering look. Jared has such playful eyes and a gorgeous, open expression that Jensen wants to punish himself for being the way he is, incapable of flirting in public even though he can tease the hell out of guys he likes in the safety of his home. He wants to say something witty or cute, anything that could earn him that lovely smile again, but all he can think of is _'I would risk kissing you without a health check'. _It's probably not the one-liner this dream boy is waiting for.

The bus rocks him up and down as they stumble into a pothole, and he wobbles on his feet, grasping onto the closest thing he can catch, Jared's outstretched hand. It holds him up with a steady grip, big palm and long fingers curling around Jensen's, and there it is, that smile again, the only pure thing on this filthy metal trap. Jensen blushes.

He feels so fucking guilty. He didn't mean to rub his contaminated glove on Jared's bare skin. What if Jared eats without washing that hand first? It would be Jensen's fault if he fell ill. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise." Jared shakes his head, and then they stop, and Jensen rushes to the door before he forgets to get off, but he still hears the amusement in that deep voice. "Goodbye, stranger."

He doesn't look back. Why would he? There's nothing that one more glance would accomplish. They aren't likely to meet again. Jensen walks the rest of the way home, messenger bag slung across his shoulders, and refuses to give in to the urge to clasp his hands together and imitate Jared's touch. He might be lonely, but he isn't that pathetic. He washes his hair extra thoroughly in the shower that night, but Jared's smell lingers in his nose no matter how much citrus he lathers on his skin. It's impossible. Perhaps the infection reached his nose and messes with his senses. Perhaps it's the beginning of the end.

Jensen still falls asleep with a smile.

* * *

Jared, the college kid, is already waiting at the bus stop on Monday. Jensen can see him checking his watch just as they round the corner, then the anxious expression that takes over his face when he notices the bus. His colourful sneakers all but glow in the dark when they go _tap-tap-tap_ on the concrete. How abnormal is it that Jensen appreciates their cleanliness?

When the doors open, Jared sticks his head inside first, craning his neck, before casually climbing in and pretending nothing out of the ordinary happened. He looks even better than last time, with his grey shirt stretching across his chest and his long hair flopping around as he scans the seats all the way to the back. Jensen has the fleeting, ludicrous idea that Jared's looking for him, but he dismisses it as a product of his overactive imagination. He bites his lip when their eyes meet.

"Hi." Jared grins at him, paying no mind to the rows of empty seats he passes while going straight for the one next to Jensen. He has an overstuffed sports bag on his back. The sleeve of a hoodie is sticking out of its big pocket, and once again, Jensen is hit by the impression that Jared must have wanted to catch this certain bus tonight, enough to be careless about packing up. He's embarrassed how pleased that thought makes him.

"Do you take this every day?" Jared asks him happily as he sits down. He has a black beanie in his hand, worn soft, and he fiddles with it like someone who's itching to put it on but fears it might be lame. He smells just as incredible as he did on Friday. "You look well-rested."

"Because I didn't have to ride this rustbucket on the weekend." Jensen grumbles.

He doesn't mean to sound grumpy or closed-off because he knows it drives people away, but that's the truth. He spent both days in his apartment, feeling depressed for not having a chance with outgoing, lively guys like Jared. He'd be drowning in cold sweat if he had to go to a party or visit campus accommodation for that matter. Students are notoriously bad at personal hygiene. Even today, he can hardly believe he put himself through college despite all his issues. So what does it leave him with? Stale bread type of guys who never know what to do with him in private or how to be there for him when his world narrows down to bacteria and sanitizers.

"Glad to see that your mood improved." Jared laughs, but he looks like he meant that, as if he saw right through Jensen's stoic face to the vulnerable, pearlescent insides. He really is in a better mood tonight. "My weekend sucked. And my best friend is an asshole."

Jared gets into a long-winded story with wide gestures of his perfect hands and doesn't stop until Jensen cracks a smile and goes, _'oh, you poor thing', _laced with sarcasm. Next thing Jensen knows, they are talking about the latest shows they hated and the ones they laughed at, and he slips and says he could have been one of the fucked-up characters on Doom Patrol, but Jared doesn't prod at the reason and it's fine. Better than fine. He learns that Jared's just four years younger than him and refuses the title of 'kid' with the vehemence of an indignant puppy, that he eats candy for breakfast and that he's a dork who's going to be a Math teacher with a ton of pi jokes.

"Why should you never talk to pi?" Jared snickers into his ear, but however quiet he tries to be, it doesn't save them from another passenger's disapproving glare. They kinda deserve it for acting like a pair of teenagers instead of grown-ass men. "Because he'll just go on forever."

Jensen's laughter bursts out of him with the sound of a geyser, and he bows his head in embarrassment, but it just rolls and tumbles out of him in waves, leaves the corners of his eyes wet and his chest pleasantly aching. He can't remember the last time he giggled this hard in public. Where has this joy been in the last couple of years? He's twenty-six, but it feels like he’s been going on fifty since they wheeled him out of the hospital. He was trying to reclaim his life and he thought he was doing so well, but now… How didn’t he realise he missed this?

It feels like failure. Something invisible he didn't notice until it was too late, and now he can't get rid of it. It's still poisoning him, after all these years.

“Jared, I, uh… I gotta go now.” He clambers up, stomach clenching tight from nausea. His gloves are still neat and secure on his hands, even when he shakes them a little, but what if something pierced them and he missed it, laughing this much? How long was he distracted by Jared's charm?

“Oh. Okay.” He'd have to be blind not to see the disappointment on Jared's face, but Jared stands up and lets him out with a polite smile. They would have had ten more minutes of fun if Jensen wasn't such a mess. And now he will have to spend another half-hour outside. It was easier to keep a schedule before everything went to shit, wasn't it?

“I’m visiting a friend.” He lies. It's not very convincing, but enough to lend him an excuse, and Jared graciously goes with it.

“Have fun.” He smiles and squeezes Jensen's forearm through his jacket.

Jensen shudders. How would that gentle touch feel under the clothes, on his naked skin? It has been so long since he let someone caress him there. Jared's smooth palm would be so soothing, he knows. “You too. I mean. Good night.”

And with that, he's already stepping away and running, dashing to the door because he can't stay confined in this lethal wheeled box for another second longer. He can barely hear it when Jared calls after him, the saliva's already bubbling up in his mouth to prepare him for the contents of his stomach.

“Bye, stranger.”

It takes him twenty minutes to realize he forgot to introduce himself again.

It becomes a tradition of theirs, riding home together shooting the shit, then saying goodbye as if they were complete strangers. Jensen likes it - it makes him feel quirky and special. He doesn't have too many friends these days and making new ones turned out to be harder than he thought, even though he moved here from a bigger city, where connections meant everything and he shook thirty hands average a day. He used to be good at collecting buddies.

Jared makes him forget that it's not true anymore. He never mentions any of Jensen's obvious problems and never asks beyond what's comfortable, not even the night when Jensen has to break out his face mask to calm himself and ride in peace. He can't believe that someone this considerate befriended him on the freaking night bus when months of online dating with specific requests brought only disappointment.

"Come on, you must be a Jack." Jared elbows him on a Wednesday evening, ten minutes into their ride. Tonight's mission is to guess Jensen's name, apparently. "You have a Jack face. Jackie. Jacob?"

"Lukewarm." Jensen was generous and gave him a clue, the first letter, knowing he would have to be damn lucky to find the rest even after that.

"Jesus Christ."

"You're sailing towards the Antarctic, buddy."

"I give up." Jared sighs, but there's a thrilled smile on his lips as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a chocolate bar. "Here, you won my Snickers."

Jensen twirls the snack between his gloved fingers and lets the tingling warmth in his chest spread out to his belly. He feels a familiar little whoop in his stomach, the wings of his figurative butterflies, and a surge of restless energy steals his breath. He wants to cuddle Jared and babble about the details of his inconsequential life, wants to take him out during daytime and spend every minute with him, and kiss him, touch him without fear or remorse, take his hand. God, his hand… It's desperate. Crippling, even, but Jensen's floating on dopamine and he _cannot stop. _He crossed the line somewhere, maybe on the very first night, and now he’s falling.

"It's Jensen." He mumbles, and his mind frets, _did that sound normal? Do people say that? _As if his brain has just forgot twenty years of development. "Jensen Ackles."

"Oh, cool." Jared grins and offers his hand. "We could join the Weird Names Club. Jared Padalecki."

The handshake feels surreal, not quite real. Is Jensen doing it firmly enough? He doesn’t want to be a dead fish stuffed in a wool glove. It has been a while since he shook with anyone, might have been half a year, since his first week at the firm. His nicer colleagues know enough not to push him. And who else would go around trying to grab the stiff dude's hand, his landlord? No, this issue really hasn't come up in so long that Jensen almost forgot it. Almost.

"How many pairs do you have?" Jared asks, not letting go. His thumb rubs the back of Jensen's hand through the fabric until the tender, touch-starved skin underneath trembles.

"A lot." Jensen admits, trying not to move lest he scare Jared’s stroking finger away. How strange it is to be starved for one particular type of affection even when all other needs are satisfied. He had no shortage of lovers before he got sick, but none of them ever wanted… They desired only his mouth.

"I kind of noticed." Jared averts his eyes, and Jensen thinks, _here it comes. _The first step in the long way of falling out. Most of them start out compassionate, but insistent to know the whole story, then it's about trying to help him change, and when that fails, there's only exasperation and pity. Then nothing.

"You did, huh?" Jensen mutters listlessly, pulling his hand away. He can't help but knead at the centre of his palm a little, missing the pressure. There's one thing he refused to lose even after everything changed to make his life irrational and difficult. His fashion sense. He has separate gloves for everything - thin, inconspicuous ones for work, leather for the bus, soft, knitted things for moody winter days and silk for sex. Dozens of shades and colours, each with its own range of outfits to go with their silent statements, _fuck off_ or _I'm scared, _or the pair he's wearing today, _I'm trying. _It has removable fingertips.

Jared roots around in his backpack, blushing, then presents a grey piece of cloth that flops around in his grip like a pancake. "Yeah. 'Cause I collect beanies."

"What?"

"People think I'm crazy, wearing them all the time. But no ball cap for me, man, only one of these softies." Shaking his bangs away from his forehead, Jared swallows and puts it on. "My security blankets."

The sleet of dread sliding down Jensen's nape evaporates as though it has never even been there. He frowns in confusion. "But I've never seen you in one."

"Didn't want you to laugh at me." Jared's eyebrows curve up until he looks sad and hopeful at the same time. Stray curls of his hair stick out from under the hat at his nape, tempting Jensen to reach out and tuck them away. He has no idea how anyone can be this lovable in such an oversized body.

"It suits you." He smiles, and his heart turns heavy from the sudden, unfamiliar sense of belonging. He's safe with Jared. He's safe.

It's the shot of encouragement he needed for so long to make progress, one of those little pushes that could get him to be free again someday. Before he could second-guess himself, he folds the fingers off his glove, exposing the pale skin underneath, and holds his thumb up as a challenge for a thumb war. The last time he played that game he was a teenager who spent an entire week camping in the mountains with his friends. Times change, huh?

"Double or nothing for your candy?"

Jared glances between Jensen's uncovered fingers and his smirk, then reaches out and presses his thumb to Jensen's, grinning. His blunt nail draws a tingling line down the pad of Jensen's fingertip, and it aches for more. "It's on."

* * *

Jensen knows he's a goner when Jared buys him glow-in-the-dark Halloween zombie mittens and he doesn't throw them out. They've been going home together almost every day for two months now and it's everything Jensen hoped for and nothing he was able to imagine. When they are together, it doesn't feel like a new sensation, not really. As if they just picked up a lost thread to continue a relationship from another life, the comfort and security seems instant and unwavering. They feed each other's needs so well that thirty minutes a day is enough to leave Jensen longing for it the rest of the time. He's crushing hard, he knows, but this is the only way he can explain how it feels. Jared makes him so happy.

Not that they are _together. _It's a friendship for now, if you can call it that, but more importantly, it's a connection he never felt before.

The reasons why they moved away from their hometowns weigh on them and pull them down when the days turn gloomy and the nights cold. Jared didn't feel comfortable about his sexuality there - acceptance didn't go beyond his closest family members, and being the freak of the town was driving him only one way, and that wasn't another tomorrow. He doesn't have to say the word out loud though, Jensen understands. Knows that hopelessness all too well. After all, when your own fears confine you to a single room that doesn't have a window, you begin to wonder if the quick way out would be the right choice. 

They disagree on pets, because Jensen likes petting them and caring for them - at least he did during the year he moved back to his parents - but dogs are too dirty for him to bear. Jared, of course, loves them to no end, and declares that if they ever have to take care of a dog together, he'll generously let Jensen be the one who gives them food and he will get rid of the waste.

"And I'll train them not to slobber all over you." He finishes, and the cracked, tear-soaked embers in Jensen's chest start to light aflame again. He presses a bare fingertip to the back of Jared's hand as if to poke him, but inside, he's telling him with that gesture, _I could love you._

Once, for whatever reason, Jared is already on the bus when Jensen gets on at the stop closest to his workplace. It's hours earlier than their usual, but Jensen has been feeling depressed and he just couldn't handle another minute in the office. He decided to risk rush hour and vowed to catch up with Jared later.

But looks like there won't be any need to, and they both seem to be caught off-guard by this turn of events. Jared is sitting in the aisle seat in the front, like the day they met, and Jensen hovers awkwardly by the door, standing and barely keeping his balance because he doesn't want to touch the sticky, smudge-covered grab rails.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" Jared smiles up at him when he recovers from the surprise. "I'm not saving your seat if another grumpy accountant comes to fight for it."

"Ass." Jensen grins back and elbows Jared's side until he scoots closer to the window. He's about to fully settle down next to Jared when the bus stops again and a haggard woman steps inside, coughing.

The doors swish shut, and Jensen is awash with a fear so bone-deep he can't move a joint.

_Cough, cough, cough._

Is it the flu? Laryngitis? COPD? Whooping cough, measles, cryptococcosis, tuberculosis? Jesus, what if it's TB, what if it is, one sneeze can project infectious droplets through an entire bus, she coughed _four times, _four, no, please, it can't be TB, it can't be, can't be. There's an outbreak among the homeless, could she be homeless? Does she have blood on her lips? She has awful posture, it might have spread to her spine. God, Jensen can't catch that, he can't, he barely survived the first time he was temporarily disabled, he wouldn't live through another one, his mind would break.

"Jen?" Jared takes his hand, and Jensen can't think clearly from the pounding of his heart, squeezes as hard as he can in his panic to plead for help. "Ow, hey, ease up."

"She coughed… four times. Four times."

"Okay." Jared blows out a long exhale and raises his free hand to turn Jensen's head away from the woman and her sickly face. He uses only three of his fingertips to touch Jensen's cheek, but it's almost too much. "You know what we're going to do? I'm going to help put your mask on, then we'll wait for the next stop and get off, all right? Sounds good?"

Jensen's shaking all over, but he manages to close his eyes and nod. "Yes."

Of course, this is the exact time for the bus to get stuck in a traffic jam. They take ten minutes to get to the next stop, and it’s torture, staying locked in an infected trap full of people who would rather shuffle closer to the woman with the hacking cough than stay around Jensen after Jared puts the mask on him. _I’m not the sick one! _Jensen wants to shout and lash out at them for their stupidity, but he’s too busy trying not to breathe as Jared pulls him to his feet and guides him past the bewildered woman. She shrugs and takes their vacated seats. This is why Jensen hates to sit by the doors wherever he goes - every careless, lazy and ill person chooses the closest chair.

When they finally struggle their way out of the crowded bus, Jensen buries his face in Jared's neck right there in the bus stop shelter and cries the deadly fear out of his system. He feels awful. It’s so pathetic to be scared shitless by something a normal immune system wards off without any effort, but he already had a bad day and the terror overwhelms him. It’s irrational. It’s petrifying. It’s the bane of his fucking existence. So many people fear tiny things like spiders or bugs that no one sends you to the doc if you scream and break out in tears at the sight of one, but _his _fears are unacceptable. People made sure to drill that fact into his head.

Jared hugs him tight and strokes his back, up and down, up and down, until Jensen’s able to take the surgical mask off and box breathe again. Inhale to the count of four, hold, breathe out, start over. "Can I ask?"

Jensen nods into Jared's shoulder. His smell is different today, more earthy somehow, and less like something Jensen’s used to find traces of in his home. It’s still the best scent he has come across since he’s been hospitalized five years ago. Did he even notice faint smells before that dreadful time?

"Is it hypochondriasis?

Jensen shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s better off with his own disorder or not, but at least he’s aware of his own body and state of health. "Mysophobia."

He makes an awkward gesture as if to explain himself and steps away from the embrace, yanking the mask off his head. He hates himself. Why would Jared tolerate him after this? He'd be the definition of a high-maintenance boyfriend, hell, he's too difficult even for a simple friendship. Every once in a while he's going to have breakdowns like this. Or worse.

"I don't mistake myself as ill, I'm just afraid of dirt, germs and viruses."

Jared reaches for him again, but catches himself in the middle and lets his arm fall back to his side. "So, you avoid sick people."

"And handshakes, doorknobs, grab rails, utensils in diners…” Jensen barks out a bitter laugh. “Some types of sex. You know. Most things that I have to do with bare hands.”

"Shit."

"Yeah. I'm working on it."

They stand there in silence, listening to the ebb and flow of cars as they rush past in the rhythm dictated by the traffic light of the nearby intersection. A truck with fading blue paint splashes murky rainwater out of the road's potholes and spreads ash-colored mud with its tires. It must have an exhaust pipe problem, because it's not speeding, but sounds like it is. An ambulance glides along in the other lane, a picture of peace before wartime. It's not using its sirens, but Jensen's throat constricts anyway at the sight. He rubs the underside of his arms, compulsively so, and for a second, he thinks he's back in his worst memory and the wetness on the curb is blood, the mud sticking to the tires raw flesh.

He jumps when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

"Are you afraid of me too?" Jared lowers his voice, standing in Jensen's personal space again to keep their conversation private from the people huddling in the stop with them. His presence is calming.

"No." Jensen tells him and sags, blinking his ghosts away. What’s to lose now, after this incident? He goes for broke. "You smell very clean and healthy."

“Really?” Jared hums in disbelief. "I thought I always smelled like the pool. I swim too often."

Jensen stares at the tips of his shoes. He'll have to wipe them clean. "I like chlorine."

"Me too!" Jared laughs, and whether he meant it or not doesn't even matter, because Jensen loves him for handling this the way he did, never once turning it in the usual direction. He didn't say a word about change or normalcy. He just took it in as it is.

* * *

Jensen wears the mittens on Halloween. It's a Friday this year, the weather perfectly gloomy and sprinkled with fog. He buys eyeball-shaped candy for Jared and smiles non-stop, ready to take on the whole world. Rich tells him that seeing him with such a serene expression is the scariest thing that will occur all day, which has some truth to it, he has to admit that. Excitement isn’t something he’s been used to in the last five years. The amount of rejection he had to cope with since his accident burnt most of that emotion out of him, but he has a good feeling about this night. He can’t wait.

Everyone stares at him when he goes outside at the end of the day, but he wears the gloves proudly, smiling to himself. Not even the newspaper-littered pavement could ruin his mood. The smell of roasted chestnut drifts through the street while he waits at the bus stop, and sparks a strange burst of holiday spirit in his heart. Perhaps he could ask Jared out to dinner tomorrow. He would cook a hearty meal and they would collapse on his couch after, telling scary stories by his ambient lamp and maybe, if Jensen was feeling really brave, they could make out a little. He would let Jared kiss his mouth and trace the lines on his palms until all his terrible memories are laid out in the open. Jared might be the one who won’t turn him away.

Jensen’s heart is about to break out of his ribcage when the bus takes the turn to the _University Centre, _but when Jared isn’t waiting at his usual spot, he starts feeling stupid and oddly betrayed. Where’s he? Why would he miss tonight when they have been talking about it all week, their trick-or-treating experiences, favourite pranks and the candies they can’t eat without remembering the heat of pumpkin pies. Jared had to be here. Did he take the wrong bus? Why didn’t he text then? The size of Jensen’s disappointment rebels his earlier spike of happiness.

He’s just about to turn away from the window and glare at his bag, when he sees movement in the distance. The front door of the uni sports centre swings open, and _there he is, _with his nonexistent six-foot-four grace, dashing out of the building right on time to miss the bus while still seeing it roll away. The desperate, mad look on his face as he kicks at a pile of leaves is the funniest thing Jensen has seen all day. He’s wearing a zombie beanie that goes well with Jensen’s mittens - in fact, it looks like it’s made of the same lime green cloth.

"Oh my God." Jensen breaks into laughter when he sees it, relishing the heat that washes over him at the realization. None of his boyfriends have ever bought them matching winter wear.

He calls Jared’s number and snickers into it as soon as Jared picks it up. “You’re ridiculous!”

_“You saw me?” _Jared groans on the other end.

“Course I did, I was waiting for you to show up.”

_“Fuck.”_

“Take the next one, Jay.” Jensen says, climbing out of his seat to go to the door. “And save the aisle seat for me, would you?”

Fifteen minutes later, when he catches the next bus one stop away from the university, Jared's smile is blinding even from ten rows away. Jensen smiles back and he knows it reaches his eyes, that he's flashing his meticulously brushed teeth, but he doesn't care who sees it this time.

"Nice hat." He teases as he settles down, and if he's sitting closer to Jared's seat than it's necessary, no one's going to notice.

"Isn't it?" Jared shows it off to him by shaking his head and letting it cover his brows. There are X-s stitched on the fabric where the zombie's eyes would be. It has embroidered scars like Jensen's mittens.

"I got you some candy." Jensen pulls the pack of gummy eyeballs out of his pocket and opens it up. The elation it brings to Jared's hazel eyes is priceless.

"You know the way to my heart, man." Jared moans, popping one into his mouth, and sneaks an arm behind Jensen's shoulders until his fingers brush Jensen's biceps. His limbs are so long… "Hey, look at this monster."

There's another creepy candy in Jared's hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers so that the bloody iris is gawking ahead like a grotesque cyclops. Jared makes the "creature" stand on his fingertips and walks it from his thigh onto Jensen's. He scratches at Jensen's jeans with a blunt fingernail.

Jensen raises his mitten-zombies and growls. "Watch out, it's on enemy territory."

He play-attacks Jared's hand and they fight until the candy falls out of Jared's grip and rolls away on the floor. The cyclops dies a long, dramatic death, falling to its knees, and Jared provides the noises to its swan song with his tongue sticking out. His cheeks are cherry pink from the cold, and he's so, so beautiful. Jensen tips his head up and laughs, watching the colours in Jared's eyes change as the bus rocks them between shadows and lights. His puppet-zombies chew on Jared's fingers until they tire and flop down together on his lap. He takes a deep breath.

Then, Jared kisses him.

His touch is warm and soft like a veil, light lace and satin that falls around their heads, drapes over them until everything feels pure white and pristine. Jensen’s neck bends further back to open him to the pressure, and he yields, rests his nape against the arm that shields him from the everyday dirt around him, from the torn-up, yellowing seat they gifted with this precious moment. Jared kisses him, and his mouth is hot and moist, but the tip of his nose is freezing - it brushes Jensen’s skin and runs under his closed eye, a tear blown away by the harsh autumn wind. Jensen smiles. Like the glow of his silly mittens under the interior light, it gets lost in Jared’s huff of breath as their joy reaches its summit and flows over. He can smell the fruity fragrance of candy on Jared’s lips and tastes it, the sweet-sour flavour in the corners, when Jared’s tongue darts out and tempts him to play. Aching, he goes, and his love dizzies him, banishes the stranger from his body so that the real Jensen, the old one, can come forward and tell what he needs to say without tension, phobias or words. For one delicate second, he’s fearless again.

That's why it frightens him so much when the doors open, and the sound of a kid's sneeze blows in with the cold.

"I can't." He pulls back, the vice tight around his chest again. Jared’s flushed face falls. "I mean. Not here. Just not here."

"All right." Jared exhales and drops his forehead to Jensen's for one second, then leans back and straightens in his seat. He stares out the window.

The corners of Jensen's eyes sting from shameful guilt. "Sorry."

"Told you." Jared mumbles and captures Jensen's mitten-covered right hand in his own. "Don't apologise."

They stay silent after that, and when Jensen nods off on Jared's shoulder again, he curls fully away from the frosty, dim aisle, but can't get away from the chill of frustration in his heart.

* * *

Jared doesn't come to ride on their bus for four days. For six if Jensen counts the weekend, but they wouldn't have seen each other then anyway, would they? Although he kind of wanted… He thought maybe Jared would call. Then, around Monday or so, he figured Jared might be thinking the opposite, because they can be dumb like that. But he was too chickenshit to grab his phone at nine in the evening on the first goddamn day of the week, so he spent thirty minutes fumbling and wrote three lines.

_I hope everything's ok. We had fun on Friday, didn't we? Miss you, J_

He stayed up until midnight, but the reply didn't come until the next morning. It didn't ease his worries at all.

_Hey, Jen. Don't worry about me! :) Something came up, but I'll be back ASAP. See you later ;)_

It's a miserable week. November greeted them with pouring rain and windchill, and Jensen spent long hours every night staring at the storm with his blanket wrapped around his torso and his phone in his hand. No calls, no texts, just the memory of a kiss that's starting to bleed like his scars do in his nightmares.

It's Friday morning when he decides enough is enough. Jared talks all the time about the course he has on Fridays, how useless it is, why it had to be a seminar he must attend, why it is in the Fine Arts building when Jared's a goddamn Math student. Jensen racks his mind for every single detail he managed to store away and puts it together at long last around two in the afternoon. He grabs his coat and leaves immediately, ignoring all his colleagues and the security guard who once almost locked him in the office for the night. He doesn't care - he stacked up so many overtime hours he could take the rest of the year off and still say he worked his share.

Going inside the Art Building is a bit of a challenge, because he doesn't want to enter, and his stomach churns from the thought of the germ mixing bowl called the student body, but he soldiers through, clutching his spotless umbrella with a pounding heart and clammy hands. Even hidden in brown knitted fabric, they feel sweaty-cool and gross. By the time he finds the right lecture theatre, the doors are already open, and a stream of chattering students crowds the hall. Jensen plasters himself to a red marble pillar and sighs. He scans the space over the heads of dozens he doesn’t know. Is he late? Damnit, did he miss Jared? But, just when he’s about to give up and go home to mope, he spots a familiar black beanie and the radiant smile that hooked him in on that first night, the fox eyes and the happiness gleaming in them.

"Jensen?" Jared calls out as he weaves through his course mates.

"Hey." Jensen waves a little but hesitates to approach. His ears have picked up on a strange sound. Is Jared sniffling? Oh. He _is. _He has a runny nose. It takes Jensen a second to click, but when it does, all his misery turns into exasperation and an inexplicable fondness he tries to bat away from his mind. Did Jared seriously avoid him because he caught a cold? It’s so stupid and considerate at the same time that Jensen doesn’t even want to pretend he’s angry, he’d rather just jump straight to the part where they make up.

A few feet away, Jared gives him a brilliant smile. "I can't believe you stalked me here."

"You complained so much about this shitty class I thought I'd see it for myself." Jensen grins back, but, for the sake of reminding Jared how awful this whole week was, he firms his willpower and makes the affection fade from his face. "You didn't call."

"I didn't want you to freak out." Theory confirmed.

"I sort of did anyway."

Jared turns the puppy eyes on him full force. "I'm so sorry. I didn’t know what to do."

“Next time, just tell me and I’ll figure it out."

With his mouth still set in a pout, Jared rolls back and forward on the balls of his feet, unsure of what he’s allowed to do. He opens his arms wide. "Can we hug?"

"No." Jensen laughs and pushes him away with a palm pressed to the centre of his sternum. “You’ve just come out of the germ box.” He jerks his chin at the lecture hall. “You can’t touch me until you showered.”

Jared laughs, deep in his chest, and pulls a pack of tissues out of his bag. “But am I forgiven?”

“I don’t know. Do you deserve it?”

Although it wasn’t included in Jensen’s plans, Jared grovels so adorably that he goes home with him, to the tiny studio he’s renting on the outskirts of the city. He puts up some token resistance, because he does have a gut-deep, instinctual fear that Jared’s fading sickness will infect him, but he’s been pining all week and the force of his crush turns out to be stronger than his phobia.

"This isn't how I wanted to invite you in for the first time." Jared jokes as they step inside and hang their coats on the rack. He brushes his hand over the small of Jensen’s back and gives him a small push to help him step away from the wall. “Do you want some tea?”

“No, thank you.” Jensen mumbles as he does a surreptitious look around the room, searching for potential sources of harm. For trashcans, discarded clothes, dust, dirty plates, rotten fruit in the fruit bowl… It’s always so awkward when he enters a new place. No surprise he doesn’t do one-night stands anymore, they would call the cops on him. “You should lie down and rest.”

“Come on, Jen, I’m fine.” Jared whines, pushing him further inside. Jensen reckons it would be kind of funny to watch this later on tape. “It’s just a runny nose now. Had you seen me on Monday...”

“Please.”

Jared shakes his head, smiling fondly. After giving Jensen’s shoulder one last pat, he backs up towards his bathroom. “All right. If you promise to tuck me in.”

“You’re such a baby.” Jensen rolls his eyes. He can hardly believe it, but the flat looks acceptable at first glance, enough so that he dares sit on the couch, gingerly tucking his socked feet under himself. “Go take that damn shower.”

For all his verbal acquiescence, Jared doesn’t climb into his bed when he comes back out in sweatpants and a shirt. He settles down on the other end of the couch instead, drapes a fleece blanket over his legs and reaches out for Jensen’s rigid body. When his middle finger bumps into Jensen’s elbow, Jensen shudders from the roots of his hair down to his toes. _He’s healthy, he’s healthy now, _he assures himself and scoots a few inches closer.

"I know. This is ridiculous." He mutters with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"You're doing great.” Jared replies and opens his arms again, asking for a hug for the second time today. “Come here."

Feeling increasingly secure in this cosy little room, Jensen forces himself to give in, lets Jared pull him close until they are sitting there side by side with their bodies curled towards each other. He takes a huge leap of faith, and slowly, one by one, tugs at the fingers of his gloves until the fabric slides off his hands and plops down on the blanket like the discarded hide of an animal that's about to change into something bigger. He tenses his trembling muscles into stillness and lays his hands on his knees, palms pressed together as though he's praying. Jared glances down, then back up at his green eyes for permission before taking them in his hand. His steady grip around Jensen's fingers is a weight so soothing that, with a little halt between his words, Jensen finally dares come clean.

“I was... walking home from a night out. And a speeding car hit me. I sort of... skidded on the asphalt." He pauses. "Had horrible scrapes along my arms. My palms just…”

He was drunk, just like the driver - the whole thing feels like a nightmare, nothing but a screwed-up dream. But the horror of how it looked, the meat bared on his hands, his skin gone - he'll never forget how real that was. It was neither a burn, nor a cut, but both at the same time, a ragged wound so big he thought he would lose one of his limbs.

“I mean, I had other injuries, fractured legs and internal bleeding, but I swear, these were the worst. I needed a skin graft on my left." He barrels on, holding it out for Jared to see. He doesn’t look, he knows his scars, the patchwork-Frankenstein looks of them and the differing colours, eternal reminders. “I was twenty-one.”

"Does it hurt?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Not anymore. It's just ugly."

Jared stays silent for a beat, just breathing, then he takes Jensen’s wrist and kisses it, presses his lips to the scarred, yellowish spot at the heel of that palm, and whispers into it. "Looks like a normal scar to me."

Jensen has to let out a laugh to cover for the wetness welling up in his eyes. He blinks it away before it could spill out. "I woke up hooked to a bunch of machines. Couldn’t touch anything, couldn’t hold a glass of water or even just a pen to sign my documentation. I couldn’t take care of myself at all, had to wait for the nurses and then my mom to -”

He’s not saying that out loud. He’s disgusted by just thinking about it.

“I couldn’t bear it. My pride got in the way. It was just a little pain, I thought, my arms were working fine, right? They couldn’t be just as useless as my broken legs. I gritted my teeth and demanded to do my own business. So fucking stupid.” He hisses. “Found myself back in the ICU after a week. With sepsis.”

"God."

"That's how I developed this shit. Channelled all my PTSD or whatever into it." He clears his throat. When was the last time he told this story? Must have been years ago. It hurts so fucking much to remember that his life is split into a before and an after that he prefers not to bring it up. “So basically, I went nuts and lost my friends."

Jared makes a strangled noise of disbelief. “You almost lost your _life.”_

"It's not their fault. They tried to be tolerant and patient, but I was so insufferable, you wouldn't believe it.”

"You're right, I don't believe that."

"You’re biased."

"Yes." Jared admits it without a fight. He strokes and kisses Jensen’s palms again as if he just can't get enough, now that they are revealed to him after such a long time.

"I moved here about eight months ago." Jensen sighs. He doesn't want to spare another thought to the people he used to call friends. "Trying to get my life back one step at a time. I go out for lunch once a week, accept gifts, try to keep the handwashing on a sane level… I don't know. I try. I force myself to take the bus even though I could get a car."

Jared freezes. "You could?"

Jensen nods and presses his lips into a thin line. "But I can't let this thing corner me into a sterile cage." It was enough to live through it the first time. His biggest fear might just be that his phobia conquers him once and for all. "I wanted to tell you for a while now.”

“Glad you did.” Jared replies and lowers Jensen’s hands, biting his lip. He looks nervous as hell. "I wish I could be this brave."

"Sometimes, I think of the worst outcome, then explain it to myself why it wouldn't matter at all. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"You running away."

"Well." Jensen’s face heats up. Is this what he’s been waiting for all week? "I'm a big boy. You won't get rid of me that easily."

There’s a split second of uncertainty when he thinks Jared will tell him something terrible about his health or an excuse to cut himself out of dating the disabled guy, but when he looks into Jared’s hopeful eyes, he knows it could be nothing but the pivotal point they have been rushing towards since the moment he fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder on the night bus. He doesn’t worry anymore.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"God, Jared, is that even a question?" Jensen shakes his head and glances pointedly at his bare hands cradled in Jared's affectionate grip. Is there any doubt that he wants to take this relationship further?

Jared's lips stretch into the biggest smile ever. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes." Jensen huffs.

"Yes?"

“Yes!” He exclaims, laughing, and gives Jared the hug he's been begging for since they made up in the Art Building's hall. Oblivious or not, Jared does deserve it at this point.

It's a bit of a problem that Jensen's phobia rules out ordering take-out because Jared can barely cook an egg on his tiny stove. Jensen jokes that eating noodles and roasted chicken breast on their first official date is just a logical continuation of meeting on the night bus. It's the cherry on the cake when Jared breaks out his bottle of mineral water in lieu of wine. Neither of them minds the simple meal though - it means more to share a moment like this than shooting fake sentiments over caviar and champagne.

Jensen might have been more tired after his week of insomnia than he realized, because he ends up staying until dusk and not wanting to leave. He doesn't have the willpower to fight it, and Jared just doesn't want him to try, period. So, he stays. After he deems Jared's bathroom clean enough for a shower, he washes up and lets Jared cajole him into cuddling through the night. He sleeps like a baby, and his gloves remain tucked away in his bag the entire time.

He wakes up to the smell of toast in the morning and a note stuck to the fuzzy blue blanket Jared lent him, something that brings their first meeting to mind and puts a wide smile on his face.

_Hello, stranger. Do you come here often?_

"Dork." Jensen snickers into the back of his hand and waits, sitting up against the headboard with his legs pulled up.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Jared appears, too excited to stay on his tiptoes first, then smirking when he sees that Jensen is awake. He has an empty mug in his hand. The remains of his morning coffee, probably, that he forgot to set down before sneaking back here, now landing on the bedside table, discarded. Jensen gives them a mournful look - he would have liked a sip himself to make this morning truly perfect. He might have even drunk from the same cup just to show how ready he is to take the risks a boyfriend could mean to his health.

"Does anyone ever fall for your lines?" He grins when Jared climbs in next to him, bare foot nudging the lump of Jensen's through the covers as their thighs brush together, the mirror image of their first ride. It seems like it was a lifetime ago. Could it have been only eleven weeks?

Jared shakes his bangs out of his eyes. "You tell me."

Jensen blushes. He doesn't think he's a brave person, or someone you'd run to get life advice from, but, for the first time since his accident, he feels true triumph as he thinks of the guy who left the hospital scared for his life, then looks at the man he is today. He cards his fingers through Jared's hair and feels how the tousled brown strands slide through the gaps between his knuckles, over the scars on his palm. "They have their charm."

He flinches when Jared leans down to press their lips together, but he welcomes the kiss, coffee-breath and all. Some things are worth facing his fears for.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)


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